The Seven
by x-LiveFantasy-x
Summary: Cassia is trying to get back to normal, battling the nightmares and lurking memories of the gallery. As she pieces herself back together, strange things begin to happen to her, making her think she's going insane. But when Belle mysteriously disappears into the gallery and supernatural forces threaten them all, Cassia's worst fears are realized when her nightmares become reality.
1. Chapter 1

**All rise. The court is now in session. Honorable judge Fantasy presiding. **

**Welcome esteemed members of the royal assembly of horror; it's great to see all your faces again! :) I'm addressing you now completely refreshed from my six month fanfiction break and completely ready to continue the legacy of **_**The Four. **_**I'm sorry I didn't get to this earlier, but I've been trying to get through my freshman year of high school with a full schedule and generally all honors courses. You could say I've been a busy girl *wink, wink* haha! It actually **_**did**_** take me a while to figure out what direction I wanted to go with this, and my writing has improved leaps and bounds from **_**The Four **_**standards. (I took honors English; aren't you all proud of me?) I hope you like this as much as or even more then **_**The Four. **_**For all you newcomers, you should check out my first story; this will make a lot more sense if you do. For all you old birds, this new one will include all the characters from **_**The Four, **_**but this time the horrors won't be in the gallery: they will be in the real world. How will all of them cope when their nightmares become tangible? You'll have to stick around and find out! Oh, and remember! For all you Corpse Party fans, I have a new fanfiction for that too, called **_**Death and All His Friends. **_**Check it out! Remember: feedback is golden. So please, leave a review, even if it's short and pointless. All criticism is good!**

**Song of the day: Dream On by Aerosmith**

**Arrivederci,**

**x-LiveFantasy-x**

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_The dark corridor was dimply lit, and even though Cassia felt weightless, she could still feel the floorboards creak under her weight, the sounds echoing off the steep walls. She looked down at herself and saw that she was wearing clothes covered in blood and yellow paint. Her luminous blonde hair was matted with dust and paint, and her ruby eyes widened as she realized that she wasn't exactly human. She seemed to be a ghost of some kind, both present and absent from the scene she was standing in the middle of. The ceilings above her were vaulted so she couldn't see the top, but there had to be an end… didn't there? The lights flickered around her, but no lamps or torches were present. The light was just bright enough to help her recognize exactly where she was, and her blood ran cold when she realized that the voices swirling in turmoil around her weren't just in her imagination. The ground shuddered and buckled underneath her shimmering, ghostly form. Fissures appeared, spreading like webs on the floor. They were thin, but enough to cause the ground to crumble around her. Cassia could only turn and run as the world fell apart around her. The sound of her own beating heart and heavy footsteps were drowned out by the voices on her heels:_

"_Loves me, loves me not…"_

"_GO! Run!"_

"_Are you crazy? We're not leaving you!"_

"_You cheated!"_

"_There's a Carton for every story."_

"_How many petals do you have left?"_

"_We don't have much time!"_

"_We were never your friends, Mary."_

"_Do you want to play a game?"_

"_Cassia?"_

"_Cassia?"_

"_CASSIA?"_

_The world continued to crumble, and suddenly she felt like she was running through putty. The images in front of her distorted and she tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lungs as the hallway began to conflagrate. The flames licked her heels as the quake caught up with her, and suddenly, time sped up again and she was tumbling through darkness once again. The swirls of shadow engulfed her, and the only thing she could distinguish were little object falling around her. _

_Ib's neckerchief. Garry's coat. Toby's glasses. Belle's necklace. Holly's hair bows. Paint the exact color of Adrian's vibrant eyes… Even Cassia's paintbrushes and the palate knife she used to kill Mary. They all tumbled into darkness. The arid air rushed around her and consumed her whole body like a cocoon, and on the current of the breeze were petals. Petals of blue and red and maroon and cerulean and gold and purple and ice... All aflame…_

"_Cassia!"_

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"Cassia!"

Cassia sat bolt upright in bed, and immediately her skull made impact with her headboard. The sharp pain made cassia yelp, but it was nothing compared to the pain of the lack of breath in her lungs. It was like she had been holding her breath and just realized it. Cool air rushed into her lungs as she gulped and shuddered, taking in her surroundings. She was no longer in the gallery or falling into darkness. She was in her room, atop her bed pushed into the corner of the room so there was room for Belle and Holly as well. The wall next to her was covered in her paintings and drawings alongside clippings from art magazines and printouts from blogs. Her canvas bag hung on the bottom right bedpost, flap closed. Her sheets were tangled around her, probably from tossing and turning in her slumber. She was now aware of the little shape next to her bed.

Belle was watching her intently, with the concern of a seven year old and the wisdom of a one-hundred-and-fifteen year old. Her gaze softened when she saw that Cassia was awake.

"Good morning, Cassia. You were having quite the nightmare," she reported as Cassia stretched up and over to give her a hug. "I had to wake you up."

"It's fine, sweetie," Cassia planted a kiss on the top of her head and swung her feet around to get out of bed. She walked over to the mirror and grabbed a brush, yanking it through her thick, blonde hair. Her ruby eyes looked refreshed even if she was sure the long night would make her look ghastly. As Belle watched her, she asked quietly, "Was it about the gallery again?"

Cassia put down the brush and lowered her eyes to her hands. "Yeah. It was."

"I see," Belle nodded sympathetically. "This is the third time in two and a half weeks you've had a fright that bad in the night. Are you sure it's not something serious, like PTSD?"

"No, I'm sure it's nothing," Cassia insisted, searching her drawers for all the components of her school uniform. "The others have nightmares, too. Ib especially."

"Not nearly as often as you," Belle retorted matter-of-factly.

"You should be getting ready for school, Belle," Cassia pulled out Belle's uniform from her side of the drawers.

Belle looked at the clothes with disdain as Cassia handed the heap to her. She pursed her lips and said, "Honestly, I'm nearly one hundred and sixteen years old. I have a more impeccable knowledge capacity then most schoolteachers. I don't know why attending school is really necessary, frankly."

"You say that every day, silly," Cassia rumpled her hair as she went into the bathroom to change.

The school uniforms weren't atrocious; they were certainly better than the ones at Cassia's old school. The school colors were black and red, which were good colors for Cassia. She pulled on her shirt, then buttoned the black blazer up and pulled on the skirt. They were both black with red trim, and the red school insignia was emblazoned on the breast pocket of the jacket. As she was fixing her hair, someone pounded on the door.

"Cassia, get your butt out of there! I need to get my morning stuff done, too!" Ib's voice boomed.

Cassia sighed. That girl had a pair of lungs on her. From what Garry told her, Ib never used to talk at all, and she found her voice only after the incidents of their first encounter with the gallery. Ever since then, he says she's been "making up for lost time". She pushed open the door and a blur of straight brown hair and maroon eyes flew in and shoved her out, closing the door in her face faster than Cassia could process.

_The downside to sharing one and a half bathrooms with six people… _Cassia thought as she went and grabbed her art bag from her room. She'd been through thick and thin with that bag, and she toted it everywhere with her. It had all her school books and art supplies in it. What more could she need?

Also, in the left pocket, under the hidden ripped flap of fabric, lay Adrian's rose petal, nestled in the pillow of fabric supplied by the lining of her bag. She kept the note in with it always; the note she had never noticed was with the petal when he gave them to her. She was sure it was only the petal, but a few days later she looked in her bag and saw that indeed a note had appeared. It was the first and last time she would ever see Adrian's handwriting:

_I wish for more time with you._

She never really figured out how she really felt about Adrian. Their love was a kind of whirlwind love that finds its way into ordinary lives at the oddest of moments. They shared one moment before she fell through the painting and one kiss before he died, and that was all. It seemed like nothing to most, but for Cassia it was more than that. It was a budding relationship that was ripped to shreds by Mary and her antics. The words on the paper described her feelings entirely. The lack of time was the most painful part of it. And the fact that it says "wish" makes her feel like he's still there by her side, watching over her. His was a loss like any other, but it still left a hole in Cassia's heart. If only he were here to scare the nightmares away…

"If you don't mind me saying," a voice came from over her left shoulder. "Staring at walls is an unhealthy habit."

She whirled around. Garry; she should have known. He was dressed in his school uniform as well, considering that all of them went to the same school. He was an odd combination of colors, with pale blue eyes and strange colored hair. Cassia didn't know it when she first met him, but he always dyed his hair and did such a perfect job that she couldn't quite tell what his actual hair color was. Now it was a deep indigo, with faint roots of lilac like it used to be.

She reached up and ruffled his hair. "It's indigo now. When did you do that?"

"Just yesterday, actually, when you were at that art seminar," he smirked. "What do you think?"

"Hm…" she stepped back, feigning deep thought, and said, "It's better than lilac, but I'd love to see what your real hair looks like."

"Well, you'll never know," he said. He motioned for her to come over to the kitchen. "But enough about that. In other news, Toby made breakfast. Pancake Friday, remember?"

Toby was their resident cook. His mother was a professional chef and taught him a few tricks, but Holly said he'd always been a whiz around the kitchen. He was almost fourteen now, and he'd shot up a few inches since they first met him. When they got into the kitchen, Toby was already finishing up with the food and Holly was bouncing up and down in her seat, eagerly awaiting the little fluffy cakes of heaven coming from Toby's skillet.

"Hey Cassia!" her face lit up. "You're awake! Good, just in time for breakfast!"

"Great," Cassia managed a tired smile and pulled up a chair.

_Maybe today won't be so bad after all…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Have any of you ever watched Fullmetal Alchemist? It's my new obsession, but it also annihilates my emotions, so it's more of an unhealthy habit. I'm thinking about making a fiction for that too… I have so many shows I want to write fiction for… Anyway, how did you like chapter 1? Hope it wasn't too bad. **

**Song of the day: The Ballad of Mona Lisa by Panic! at the Disco**

**x-LiveFantasy-x**

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Cassia was thankful thirty times over that she and Garry shared at least a few classes. As they walked down the hallway, she tried her best to look invisible. That's how she survived at her last school, so why change her methods? This school was nicer then her old one and the staff were a lot nicer. The dress code was less strict, which meant she could wear all her favorite jewelry and paint her nails. She could tell by looking around that lots of kids took advantage of it; kids sported freaky hair colors and vivacious shades of makeup everywhere she looked. Garry's new choice of hair color looked normal compared to some strange hues Cassia had seen.

"There are really some strange characters in this school, huh?" Garry noticed.

"Yeah. Makes me feel better about always being covered in paint, anyway," Cassia remarked. "What class do you have next?"

"AP Lit," he said, at this point in the year knowing his schedule by heart. "My favorite class of the day, by far. We're heading over to the lecture hall to hear more student presentations on British Literature. Tedious, but it beats being in math. Are you still working on sketches in art?"

"No. Today we're moving on to paint for the first time this year," Cassia bit her lip. "I hope she likes my work. I haven't painted anything since..."

Brief silence followed her words. Garry cleared his throat after a moment and said, "Well, I'm sure you'll do fine. You always do; art for you is like breathing. You don't even need to think about it."

"Thanks. This morning, you made sure Belle and Holly got to their classes okay?"

"Yeah."

"Ib and Toby too?"

"Of course."

Cassia breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I was scared Belle would cut again to go listen to the 12th grade history teacher preach about the Battle of Hastings again…"

"She did that? Really?" Garry lifted an eyebrow.

"First day of school. She's way too smart for her own good. I swear she must have an IQ of 160 or something."

"Belle is over 100 years old. She's had time to learn. And think about all the books we saw at the gallery. She had all the time in the world to study, even if she was hiding from Mary most of the time. I wouldn't be surprised if she started correcting her own teacher."

"God forbid." They approached a door covered partially in a mosaic donated by the Arts Guild of the school. The plaque next to it stated "HS-14, Art Room."

"Here's your stop, Cass. See you later," he smiled as he passed, ruffling her hair as he climbed the steps to the next floor. She hated how he did that all the time since he was taller than her.

Inside the room was covered in easels in anticipation for their first free painting period. It was such a familiar sight that Cassia couldn't help but smile, but something deep inside of her stirred; the little scared puppy inside her quivered in the darkness. The first day of school, when she came in and saw a table full of palate knives, she almost passed out on the spot. For months she had to swallow her fear just to walk in the room and do the thing she loved, but at this point she was strong enough to suppress her anxiety and go with it. She wouldn't let memories like that stop her from enjoying herself. But even though she wore a happy face, she could never shake that feeling.

She sat down at the easel next to the window with the best light. Her art teacher, Miss Ambrose, stood in the center of the circle of easels with students parked in front of them. She greeted, "Good morning, students."

"Good morning, Miss Ambrose," the voices around the room echoed out at different intervals.

"Today, as I've been telling you for about a week now, we will have a free painting period to kick-start our segment on various painting techniques. You may use any techniques you have been previously educated in and are welcome to use anything in this room. You have all our tools at your disposal. You were allowed to bring in points of reference if you wanted to paint something more realistic, so I hope you took advantage of that," she gestured widely and said, "You may begin. Work hard, and have fun."

Cassia opened up her bag and brought out her favorite set of paints. There was a palate and a water cup already on the edge of the easel, so she didn't need to get up and get anything. She took out several brushes, set up her paints, dipped one in, and began to paint.

She never needed a point of reference for her paintings. She took everything she had from memory or interpretation. In this case, she was doing what her old art teacher used to call "trance painting". It wasn't a real term; just something he had made up specifically for Cassia's style. She could just close her eyes and paint anything and it would turn out good. Whatever she was thinking about, she would paint.

She couldn't feel anything but the easel in front of her. She almost forgot what color she was using, but she had to drag herself back to reality every now and again to make sure she was still on topic. Her original topic was just flowers in a vase, but she absolutely _had _to make a background to match. She couldn't leave even one inch of blank canvas.

Cassia was so happy with the finished product. She managed to get the crystalline twinkle of the vase to catch the light coming from the painted window just so. The flowers, though she thought the texture on the tulips was a bit off, all looked as real as she could get them to look. The wood paneling of the wall looked worn and old like the real thing and she was even able to get the oak table the vase was sitting on to have a glossy shine. She didn't paint a single rose.

_First time painting since the gallery. Success, _she thought.

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"What are these books?" Belle looked skeptically at the meager classroom library that consisted of one shelf of thin, picture-filled novellas.

"They're just… books. I guess," Holly replied, picking one up. "You read them."

"I know what a book is," Belle rolled her eyes. "I'm just wondering where the _real _books are."

"Real books?"

"You know, like Dickens?" Belle prompted. Holly looked at her blankly, so she offered, "Carroll? Twain? Eyre?"

"Belle, I'm not sure you understand, but most of these kids here are reading at a second-grade level. Even _I _only read at a fifth-grade level. If they read Dickens and Twain, their little minds would explode," Holly explained.

"Hello, class!" Their teacher walked in and greeted them. "Please take your seats. We're about to begin."

Holly and Belle assumed their normal positions next to each other at the middle tables as the teacher began to speak again:

"Today we'll be working on our 6 times tables," the teacher said, peppiness oozing through her voice. Belle felt like she was being saturated in sugar. "This might be a little hard for some of you, but you can take as much time as you want on the worksheet."

In a moment, a paper of 30 6-times tables was pushed in front of Belle's face. She took up her pen and, without even thinking, rocketed off answers onto the white sheet. She completed line after line, analyzing every bit in just seconds. Holly was doing well, but math wasn't her strong suit, so it took her a bit longer. Belle was done in no time at all and signed her name on the name slot in cursive – the only way she had ever learned to write. She walked up the aisle and put the paper on the teacher's desk.

"Good morning, Belle," her teacher said. "Do you need help with a problem?"

"No, I am finished," she put the paper on the teacher's desk.

"Already?" the teacher knit her eyebrows together. "Are you sure you don't want to check your work?"

"I checked it twice," Belle said.

"If you're sure…" the teacher took her paper reluctantly.

_Of course I'm sure, _she thought, returning to the table with Holly, who was a little over halfway done her paper.

"Hey," Holly whispered once Belle was back in her seat. "It's the fourth."

"I know, I'm so excited," Belle bounced up and down in her seat. "It's been a while since I've seen my father."

"Three months?"

"Three months exactly."

"It must be nice to get a second chance to see your father…" Holly said sadly, staring at her paper which she had long since finished.

"Oh Holly, I'm sorry," Belle said remorsefully. "I didn't mean to –"

"No, no, no, it's fine!" Holly assured her. "I'm just being stupid."

"You're allowed to miss your dad," Belle said. "You're not going to go to jail for it."

"I know," Holly said, getting up to hand her paper in.

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Cassia got up and took the cup and plastic palate over to the sink to rinse them out. Looking around, she saw that no one else was done yet. Miss Ambrose got them all passes from their next class so they have a three hour period to do nothing but pour out their inspiration. She'd taken nearly all the time and the bell was going to ring in five minutes, but the others looked like they bit off more than they could chew.

"I'm very impressed," Miss Ambrose said when Cassia got back to her seat. "You have an incredible attention to detail. You work very quickly, too. I would have never expected a piece like this, even if it was on a small canvas, to be done in only a few hours."

"Thank you very much," Cassia beamed. "I haven't painted in a while, so it's good to hear I haven't lost my ability."

"I mean it when I say it, you have lots of talent," her teacher said, examining the painting further. "The detail on the roses is impeccable…"

"It was nothing really I just –" she said before her breath caught in her throat. "Wait, did you say roses?"

"Of course," Miss Ambrose was still smiling, even though Cassia's face was frozen in a shocked expression. "Thought most people would choose a more traditional color, I appreciate your take on it."

Cassia quickly slid around the table and turned to face her painting. Or, what _was _her painting.

Bile rose up in her throat and she thought she was going to be sick. The painting in front of her was not what she created. In place of tulips and lilies of all colors, the whole vase of flowers was a monochromatic shade of yellow. The worst part? They were all roses. Every single one of them. The painting hanging on the artificial wall in the background was crooked and the glass was cracked, and the perfect, glossy wood of the table was now dusty, worn, and cracked with age. The scene outside the window depicted rain. Cassia didn't even know how to paint rain yet. The yellow roses weren't the only things in the vase, either. Spilling over the sides were tendrils of thorn-covered stems that looked menacingly unnatural.

"Cassia?" she just realized her teacher was speaking to her. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," Cassia gave a shaky laugh. "I must have just… eaten something weird?"

"Do you want to go to the nurse?"

"No, it's fine!" Cassia said uneasily. "I'll just put away the painting and get to my next class."

"Okay," Miss Ambrose said, sounding half sure as she walked away.

Cassia, panicked, took the painting and took it to the other side of the room. A thousand thoughts running through her head, she placed it in the "finished products" area and just stared at it. _How is this possible?_ She ran her hand up the now-dry surface of the painting, wondering how it was possible for the painting to just… change.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain on the end of her finger. She recoiled quickly only to find that the canvas in front of her had blood trickling down the front. Cassia cocked her head, and then looked down at her hand. She had a cut on her fingertip…?

The blood on the canvas stopped rolling. Before Cassia's eyes, the paint itself began to ripple and the drop _sank into the painting._

Cassia gave a tiny gasp and looked around to make sure nobody had seen what happened. Once the coast was clear, she reached out towards the painting. Her fingers never met the canvas. Her fingers slid through the paint like there was nothing there. The sensation was familiar: the feeling of cold air brushing her fingertips, like she was sliding her hand through water that wasn't there.

_I wonder… _she thought as she pushed her hand farther into the empty space. Suddenly, she felt herself touch another prickly surface. She drew her hand out and to her horror she was holding a flower.

Not just any flower: a yellow rose. She had created something from painting, like before.

She shoved the rose in her bag and ran out of the room.


End file.
